His Return
by G.G. Halcyon
Summary: NUX/CAPABLE. Nux's dead body is found by a wandering healer and his apprentice. They revive him and help reunite him with the woman he loves. This is Nux's journey to return to Capable.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** His Return

 **Author:** G.G. Halcyon

 **Fandom:** Mad Max: Fury Road

 **Pairing:** Nux/Capable

 **Rating:** T - M

 **Warning:** Suggestive adult themes

 **Synopsis:** This occurs after Nux sacrificed himself and dies in the movie. A wandering healer and his apprentice are given the task to revive Nux from the dead and reunite him with the woman he loves. This is Nux's journey to return to Capable.

 **Author's Note:** The first few chapters will set up the Miras Tribe and the ritual to revive Nux; afterwards it will turn into primarily Nux/Capable chapters. I do not own Nux or Capable or Mad Max. I do, however, own Miras the Goddess of Wanderers, Utsaah, the Elevated Healer, and his apprentice in this story—they are my Original Characters. This story is a bit 'out there' and not 'norm', but stay with me, and I promise it'll be worth it! Thank you. – G.G.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

"Utsaah, why do we not leave this man's body here? Why him?"

"Child, what the spirits show is true. This man's path has not yet ended, and have led us here to bring him back to his path."

The child looked up at the elderly healer and down at the lifeless body of a young man, pale and bloodied. It had taken them hours to remove the man's body from under the rubble of the fallen rocks and crumpled vehicles, and to move him to a leveled ground for their observation.

"He's dead, there's nothing we can do. He's just another broken man!" The child explained in frustration, nudging the man's body lightly on the side of his shoulder with his bare feet. "Look! He is as lifeless as the others we've found in this death site!"

Utsaah gave the child berating frown of disapproval.

"Boy, it is no greater act than to mistreat the body of a man who has been chosen!" Utsaah pointed a finger at the young child, who looked at him wearily and took a step away from the body lying on the ground in front of them.

The child bit his lip and nodded his head. He still did not fully understand how the Spirit of Miras, Goddess of the Wanderers, chose who it was that they were to save. He wondered if the Miras spoke to Utsaah through dreams or if she provided signs that only an Elevated Healer could follow. The child wondered if he would be able to learn the secrets of their tribe when he grew older and completed his training. He knew he had many years left, but as the days grew longer and the sun hotter, he started to wonder if the path of to become an Elevated Healer was really one that he should follow.

"How can you be certain he's the one to be saved?" The child asked, looking at the body in front of them, and then averting his gaze to their surroundings and noting the other dead bodies around them. They had spent days looking through the wreckage and uncovering many bodies from the rubble until Utsaah exclaimed with assertiveness that they've found a Chosen.

To the child's frustration, the Elevated Healer did not answer him, but simply continued on with his tasks. The child sighed, defeated. He knew that if Utsaah had led them to this man's body under the guides of the Goddess, then it was his task to assist him in ensuring that they help in making sure the man lives. He just hoped that soon Utsaah would answer his questions.

"Come here, child," Utsaah ushered the child to hunch down next to the side of the body. Both of them studied the body closely. The elderly healer pointed his hands at the dead man's chest and noted the markings there.

"What is it?" The child leaned forward and tried his best to guess to himself what the markings—clearly carved upon his chest and created through scarring meant. The unknown man's face was also marred by scar engravings, which he clearly could make was to match that of a skull.

"Utsaah, what do these marking mean? I've never seen them before!" He asked again.

"This, my child, is a sign of the War Boys."

"War Boys?"

"They are the vessels of a ruler not far from here. They are his army, and these markings are their signs of their acceptance of being the vessel, the automaton of a man of evil."

"Do all of them have these?" The child curiously traced the marking on the man's pale chest. They were intricate carvings, some older than the others, and appeared deep. "Is it some kind of thing?"

"It is the engine of the vehicles they ride," Utsaah explains, "It is their markings of choice, such as our people choose our markings."

The healer pointed to the child's cheeks and also his own, which were marred by a series of black swirling patterned tattoos with their intricate scripts in writing. At the age of five the menn of the Miras Tribe were tattooed with the scriptures and symbols of the Goddess Miras, whom they worship.

The Miras tribe would go forth and complete their paths as healers of the barren wasteland, often in groups of two or four, often including one Elevated Healer, a person who spoke to Miras directly, and an apprentice to take their place.

Outsiders called them 'reanimators' base on the legends and whispers about their abilities to bring people back from the dead. Some referred to them as 'ghosts' since those who encounter them often would see them disappear as quickly as they have appeared, with no trace of where they came from or gone too. The child was curious to see how it was that they brought the Chosens back from the dead.

"Will his markings remain when we awaken him, Utsaah?"

The Elevated Healer shook his head. "When he awakens, his body will be fully healed, and these scars will be gone and any ailment on his soul will be cast out."

"The scars...they'll disappear."

"Yes, child. He will be War Boy no more."

"Will he remember how he died?... His past?"

Utsaah nodded, "They will remain, but he will also glimpse into his future."

The Chosens were men who died with unfinished paths, often times taken from the world before they ever felt the true blossoms of love, or so Utsaah had told the child in the case of this man they were to revive.

"Will be feel pain, when we begin the ritual?"

"To feel pain will mean to live, both in mind, body and soul, my child."

The child touched the intricate carvings on the man's chest again, curious to know who he was and what his past may have been. Most importantly he wondered who it was that he would be returning to, and who was shedding tears for his death.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** His Return

 **Author:** G.G. Halcyon

 **Fandom:** Mad Max: Fury Road

 **Pairing:** Nux/Capable

 **Chapter Rating:** T

 **Warning:** N/A

 **A/N:** Thank you for the follows! Please R  & R and let me know what you think! Next chapters after this will be more Capable and Nux centered.– G.G.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

 _Utsaah and the Child_

Hours had passed since they found the body of the Chosen and the sky had hues of red and orange as the sun prepared to set. Utsaah and his apprentice found a nearby cave to settle in and shielded themselves from the sand storms that often frequented the area during nightfall. Although it was yet to be dark, they prepared a campfire in order to obtain heat as the temperature dropped.

The child looked up from the campfire he created and watched as the healer prepared the body of the Chosen. Utsaah positioned the body of the War Boy close to the flames for illumination, and in the ancient tongue of the Miras Tribe began to chant and pray, as his hands hovered over the body. The child remembered that this was the first step in the awakening. _"We pray to the Goddess to breathe into him his spirit and to guide him away from the darkness,"_ he recalls the Healer explaining to him.

The child stood next to Utsaah as he prayed, and looked down at the War Boy's body. The War Boy was set on the ground, motionless and pale, his eyes closed, his arms placed closely to each of his side. He remained clothed in the same garbed he died in; pieces of his pants were torn, and crusted by dried blood and dust. It surprised the child that somehow this War Boy was not chard or burned like some of the bodies they had found in the death site.

"You see, it is because Miras knew, she saved him for a greater purpose," Utsaah had told him.

Utsaah finished his prayer and looked down at the boy next to him. Their eyes met and with a tilt of his head he ushered the boy to get the herbs and potions he carried in his bag. Without a word, the boy did as told and brought the Healer's bag to him.

The Healer and the boy knelt beside the Chosen. The boy watched as the Healer retrieved a jar of red clay, a packet of dried herbs and flowers of the past, a vile of mother's milk and venom.

"Let us proceed…" Utsaah said.

The child nodded his head as he grabbed the jar of red clay, opened it and took a dollop of the wet clay in his fingers.

"Goddess Miras, we are here to aid you in the revival of this Chosen man from the dark abyss and into the light of his path… See onto him that his spirit returns from the ashes and be rebuilt into clay…"

The child rubbed the red clay on the War Boy's wounds and scar.

He covered every scar, wound and ailment that the body had. With small hands the child rubbed the red clay over the dead man's face, outlining the scars on his forehead, nose, cheeks and lips, as well as the engravings on his chest, as well as the lumps of tumors upon his shoulder.

In silence, the boy removed the remaining clothes of the chosen until he was fully naked before their eyes. He continued on to rub the clay on the rest of his body, noting that there were more carvings and signs of self-mutilation on the War Boy's thighs and legs, long lines and zigzag and patterns. Afterwards, the child closed the jar and wiped the remainder of the clay into the sand and then sat yet again next to the Healer.

"These scars and weaknesses, cast them out, and with your power make him anew, with the strength to venture this barren place into the light, my Goddess."

Utsaah bowed his head and the boy did as well, and they are silent, until the Healer continued on, as he grabbed the bag of herbs.

Opening the bag, he poured its contents into his palms and blew into them.

"Goddess Miras, our offering to you the remembrance of the life that grew and thrived in this barren world. They are to signify the beauty of what was lost and to remember hope to remain. As we are all to wither, so does life come anew, and the cycle continues until we are claimed."

The Healer placed a trail of the herbs down the Chosen's chest, and set a large amount close to where his heart would be.

"My child, the knife," Utsaah mentioned, this time extending his hand to receive a small sharp knife and a small vile of mother's milk mixed with venom. "Your hand," he tells the child, who obediently presented his hand and extended it towards the Healer with his palms open.

"Goddess Miras, we offer to you the milk of sustenance and life and the venom of death, and the blood that courses through us. So does life is renewed in the Chosen, and so does he reawaken to live until death once more. So does his bleed as we bleed, and breathe as we breathe."

Utsaah took the knife and with a quick motion of the blade, made a cut in the child's palm to draw blood. The child took the vial and squeezed into it three droplets of his blood, and then took hold of the same knife. The Healer then extended his palm to the boy, and the boy did the same light incision on older man's hands.

He watch as Utsaah took the vial and squeezed into it three droplets of his blood as well. He then closed the vial and shook it. The white color of the liquid turned to red, then a shade of purple, and then white once more.

The child and Utsah both wrapped their hands quickly with a strap of cloth to ease the bleeding and proceeded with the ritual.

He stood up and knelt down close to the above the head of the Chosen. He opened the dead man's mouth and watched as Utsah poured the contents of the vial into the man's mouth. The child then closed the man's mouth and tilted his head upwards to ensure the contents do not come out.

They sat there for a brief silence until Utsah stood up and as the child cradled the Chosen's head in his hands, Utsah chanted in their ancient tongue of their people.

" _Chamaran shanto makito wa nai_

 _Chamaran vikto suda kan ro_

 _Miras obtolus deus et mo_

 _Viratus sanus suda naievai "_

Utsaah and his apprentice closed their eyes and chanted again once more and then remained silent. The child was startled when the Healer called his name and he opened his eyes.

The healer nodded his head.

"It is done, child, and now all we must do is wait."

"I do not see the transformation yet, Utsaah…"

"It will occur in due time. For now we wait until the Goddess has found his spirit and led him from the darkness. "

"How will we know if it is working? That we succeeded?"

"Trust me child, you will know for he will move and he will speak. But as of now, his soul will slowly awaken into reality and it will wander until he returns to this body."

"Wander?"

"The soul reaches outward to those it deems to see, and to show itself in the lives of those it desires."

"And from then on, will the Chosen return?"

Utsaah laughed at the child's queries and eagerness to discover the results. He doesn't answer any more questions and he is certain his apprentice see his too.

"We will keep watch of the Chosen one, and we will take turns doing so. For now, you rest, child. I will awake you when it is your turn."

The child huffed and wanted to go against his teacher, but realized that fatigue did overcome him.

"Utsaah, what if—" He had more questions.

Utsaah cut him off, "Sleep child."

The Healer watched as the young boy settled himself near the fire. The child lay on his side, his head cradled with the bag they had carried. He faced the campfire and closed his eyes.

The Healer studied the young boy for a moment, smiling to himself at how much the child had grown up to be someone like a son to him. He cared for the boys wellbeing and was adamant that he would do his best to train the child to be an Elevated Healer, like himself.

Utsaah then turned his attention the War Boy's body, lying before him. He was certain the effects of the Goddess's powers would soon become visible, but he had no choice but to simply remain awake and observant. The body of the War Boy was still very pale, and his wounds remained. Utsaah watched and continued to chant in this head. His decades of being a Elevated Healer taught him that at that very moment the War Boy's soul was being awakened and that he would stand witness to the pain of his death, and accept the gift the Goddess Miras extended to him.

It was all just a matter of time, and he was certain that it would be days until the Chosen was healed and fully awake.

* * *

 _Nux_

He doesn't remember where or how it began, but somehow he found himself floating in the abyss of a pitch black existence. He could not tell where his body began and where it ended; he could move or touch anything. He was just 'being'. It was a feeling that shocked him, surprised him and for a split second caused him to panic. Where was he? What was going on?

In the darkness he could not tell whether his eyes were closed or open, and in the silence he could not hear his breathing or a beating of his heart. He could feel nothing but simple settle in the truth that he existed. And this was a realization he was uncertain was a blessing or a curse.

 _Is this death?_

The question permeated within his being. As he tried with all his power to move, to feel his body react… to feel his muscles and bones shift—there was just nothing at all, he could not move nor remain steady, there was nothing to move.

As he pondered his current predicament, he saw before his very eyes flashes of color in the darkness. First like faraway stars glistening in the distant, and then closer to his being until the colors were like fireworks surrounding him. The colors turned into the vivid replay of his last moments, and were snippets in the canvas before him.

In these replays he saw glimpses of _her_ … her bright red hair against the paleness of his scarred chest, the softness of her fingertips as they caressed his face, and the plumpness of her smiling lips as she kissed him… He remembers her so brightly that it blinds him. The memory of their short and fleeting time together laid heavy on him that he begged whatever god watching that he could close his eyes and hide from the memories instead of being a passive observer. And as her images came, so did they disappear and were replaced by the last moment of his life.

 _Witness me..._

He watched as he acknowledged the understanding in her eyes and in the same quickness how he saved them by ending sacrificing his life in a fiery explosion and crumbled haze.

Then it began... the pain that emanated from his core, spreading slowly deep in the recesses of his being. It continues on and grows and grows as the same images replay, until all around him he sees only the red of blood surrounding him. The pain intensifies until the red transcends into light and then the lull of blackness once more.

 _This is death…_

A voice in him whispers as the pain dissipated and be felt nothing again.

This was no Valhalla. He had expected Valhalla to be a place of brightness, happiness and perhaps a new life in peace, but instead what he awakens to or exist in is a state of nothingness and of being at the same time.

The flashes of images cycled again and again, first the silence and the darkness, and then the scenes of the woman who showed him humanity and love, and then the pain of his sacrifice. It is bittersweet at first, knowing that his death was for a greater purpose, and that with it he hoped she lived. Yet it was also a sorrowful pain because he knew that he would never see her again and that he wished he could have embraced her once more, and deepens the love that began.

 _Capable…_

Her name was a whisper in the darkness, a mantra and a prayer.

To Nux, if this was death, then so be it, as long as he kept memories of her and of why he died to save her.

He felt himself fading again, until silence and blackness embraced him, and his thoughts began to drift into the nothingness of the abyss once more.

 _Capable…_

And then once more he is engulfed in bright white light—a flash taking over his entire being and he hears a voice, distant and yet close…

" _Chamaran shanto makito wa nai/_

 _Be awake, your spirit, and travel to life…."_

It calls to him and pulls him out of the place of pain, and in his state of being he follows it.

TBC

A/N: The next chapter will have Capable and Nux.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** His Return

 **Author:** G.G. Halcyon

 **Fandom:** Mad Max: Fury Road

 **Pairing:** Nux/Capable

 **Chapter Rating:** K

 **Chapter Warning:** None

 **A/N:** Thank you for the follows! Please R  & R and let me know what you think! – G.G.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

 _Capable_

Capable looked outside the window to the bright sunlight and the sound of the people of the Citadel chanting their praises to their new leader, Furiosa. It became a morning ritual to all the inhabitants, the chanting and the beating drums, as the people both poor, sickened, of health and even the War Boys, surgeons and Feeders would participate. It was a way for all of the inhabitants to remember the path that was taken and the sacrifices that were made for them to be in their state of peace.

The Citadel was no longer a machine of singular power, led by a corrupt leader whose sole purpose was his own immortality, but instead it became a society led by a powerful woman who ensured that all, no matter their rank and status, was fed and given water. This peace in the Citadel, while only a mere few weeks, drastically changed the way of life of its people.

For the first time in decades, the people of the Citadel were free men and women who were eager to contribute to the continuity of their homeland under the assurance that they would be fed and provided water substantially. To Capable, this peace and uplift in spirits should have brought her the highest of highs and happiness, but instead as she looked and observed the new Citadel bellow her room, she only felt a pain in her heart. As she watched the young War Boys, mere children, beat at the drums, she could only be reminded of the one man whom she gave her heart to.

"Nux…" she whispered his name in remembrance, looking at the goggles in her hands. They were the only physical object she had to remember him by. She kept them close to her when she slept and when she awoke she always would find herself holding them near. She held them against her chest and closed her eyes as the memories of him began to flood her mind.

"Capable, you can't stay in here forever."

Capable opened her eyes and turned around at the voice of Toast who stood outside her room door. She knew exactly why she came to visit her, it was a common occurrence of late that one of her fellow Wives—now known as 'Sisters' to one another —would come to her room in hopes to get her to leave and join them.

"I'll stay here for now, Toast."

"No, you don't!" Toast said. She took three full strides until she stood next front of Capable with a hand on her hip. "You've been wallowing up here all depressed, when you should be outside rejoicing that we're free! Capable, things are changing at the Citadel and you should be a part of it!"

Capable knew how right Toast was, but could not muster herself to venture outside just yet, not when the crowds were out and about, and when the music reigned so loudly to remind her of all their accomplishments and all that was lost.

She often would go out in the late night, when the Citadel was quiet and most of its people were in bed resting. The need to be surrounded by people, to be bombarded by greetings and questions regarding how she and the other wives survived the wrath of Immortan Joe never came to her. No… Capable decided that she needed time to reflect on what happened, needed time to settle, to get back her sanity.

Capable returned to her view of the Citadel and its inhabitants. People were working harder than before. They worked to cultivate the grounds bellow where the fountain of water would fall, often times late into the night. They were already eager to create a type of farm where crops would grow—any crops would grow—and the effort was only on such short time frame. The people of the Citadel were relishing in their freedom and the return of life.

Toast brushed off her sister's silence and stood next to Capable and leaned forward, her chin resting on her crossed arms on the window ledge. She did her best to follow Capable's gaze, wondering what was going through her mind. To see Capable in such a slump was something she wasn't used to. Often times their situation would be the opposite, in which Toast would be upset and Capable would do her best—and always successfully—cheer her up and bring her back to life. A small voice of concern told Toast that perhaps this time, she wouldn't be so successful in helping Capable get better, and that the decision to move on lied solely on her.

"It's amazing how things change so fast, when we know we're free."

"It sure does," Capable responded, not wanting to be reminded of the reality of it. She dreaded the idea that she was free, and yet she could not celebrate that freedom with the one man who had hoped to celebrate it with.

Toast noticed her melancholy.

"Are you still thinking about that War Boy?"

"No…I was just thinking about how different things are now."

"No, you weren't, Capable. You were thinking about him—'Nux' wasn't it?"

There was a pause.

Toast placed an arm around Capable, consoling her as she could already tell that it was a very sensitive topic. She could tell that her sister was fighting away the tears. "It's okay, you know? It's okay if you still cry for him. Don't listen to what Dag says. What you feel is your heart—you need time to grieve."

Capable straightened herself and turned to Toast, curious and confused. "What is Dag saying?"

"Oh, Capable, just that she's worried about you—just like all of us. You stay here most of the days now. You are hardly outside, when we're all enjoying just being free and not being prisoned. Look at you, you hardly eat like before. It's worrisome."

"And what else, Toast? What else are they, especially Dag, saying?" Capable stepped away from Toast's embrace, and sat on the edge of her bed, placing the goggles on her lap. Toast followed and stood in front of her.

"Come out with me, Capable. Let's go out for a walk, let me show you how beautiful it is outside now." Toast tried to change the subject, but Capable didn't seem to be listening.

"Let me guess…" Capable continued, a hint of bitterness and sadness in her voice, "Dag is saying I've lost my mind because she thinks that I still believe he's still alive somewhere out there. She's saying that I'm overreacting and that I should just be thankful he saved us and let it go because he was just some War Boy. Is that it? You can tell me, Toast. You don't have to try to hide any of that from me."

Toast sighed and sat next to Capable on the bed and looked at her in the eyes. She could see that the red head's eyes were becoming teary with unshed tears and that she is struggling to keep them from falling. She always saw Capable as the strongest of them all, and seeing her this way made her angry and sad.

She felt angry because somehow a War Boy had to take her heart and then die in order for them to live, and she didn't doubt that what he and Capable shared was something special—maybe love, or maybe something so precious in the hell that was Immortan Joe's wrath and rage.

She was sad because she knew that this woman, who was more like a sister to her than any of the other Wives had been upset over the War Boy's death for weeks. Toast remembered how adamant Capable was that they return to the sight of the explosion to check for the War Boy. She remembered in her tears how Capable had explained that she didn't feel in her heart that he was dead, although she was not certain if Capable meant in person or in spirit. Had she been in such shock and sadness that she had lost, even for a brief moment, her sanity? Didn't they all experience that in a way—having gone through one of the most traumatic days of their lives in their mission to reach The Green Place and escaping Immortan Joe?

Toast recollected the many years she knew Capable, and in those years she had always considered her the most spiritual and strong of all the Wives right next to Splendid. Capable always had strong instincts and had the knack to know when they were in trouble, or when something was at bay. Unlike the others she always was the best at reading people; they all agreed she could read people's hearts. With that in mind, Toast wondered if there were any truth to Capable's instinct telling her Nux survived the blast. Not once in their time together did Capable's seemingly clairvoyant abilities fail them, or yielded falsehood. The audacity of her belief that Nux lived was so unlikely true, that Toast along with the others have questioned among themselves the mental state of Capable, and whether or not she was in a state of shock and grief.

"Do…do you still believe… I mean, is what Dag saying true?" Toast asked, studying Capable's face and trying her best not to upset her more.

Capable looked down at her hands, as she took a very long and heavy breath. "Toast… I have lost many people in my life, people close to me—all in the hands of Joe. Death is something that I've always felt so deeply… In here," she touches her chest right where her heart was, "I feel it here and it is an aching pain, that leaves you hollowed, and even if you try to ignore it, it remains, because a small part of you has died too. "

"Oh Capable…" Toast was trying her best not to shed tears as she saw Capable's tears falling; she wanted to be strong for her sister. She wanted to be a support.

"With Nux… his death crushed me, and saddens me… and it scares me too."

"He died to save us, he was a good man."

"He was," Capable agreed, "And it scares me because I know what losing someone close feels like, and somehow in my heart there is a part of me that believes that he didn't die in that explosion."

"Capable but you saw—"

"I know, Toast, I saw it—watched him stare right into me as he asked me to stand witness to his sacrifice. And, yet I have this feeling in my heart that he lives… and I know how crazy it sounds, and perhaps that is exactly it… "

"You loved him and you shared something so special and so strong that it remains a part of you." Toast took Capable's hands in hers, causing her to look up and meet her concerned gaze. She gathered Capable in a tight hug, and then pulled her back slightly to look into her teary eyes.

"Capable… do you think that perhaps the reason you feel he's still alive is because…maybe you're with child?"

The red head shook her head, sadly, "I had thought that—in hopes that maybe in our night together we created a child that could live in this new world, that was created out of love—but I bled weeks ago…"

Toast hugged Capable again and felt her sob against her. After a moment, Capable continued on, "He made me feel human, he cared for me and understood me and washed away the filth that was Immortan Joe. He gave me the strength to continue on and fight for our future. He…"

"Shhhh, it's all right Capable, shhhh, it's okay." Toast rubbed Capable's back, calming her. She held her sister until her crying subsided and her body stopped shaking. She then pulled back and gave a reassuring smile to Capable.

"It must have been a beautiful feeling to feel loved, to be touched in love."

Capable returned her smile lightly, "It's something that I'll never forget."

"Don't ever forget it, and hold it dear and close in your heart. It's the light that stays in here," she pointed at her chest where the heart is, "and I'm sure in her own way perhaps Dag is just showing her concern. And I won't lie to you and say that your statement of Nux surviving that explosion doesn't worry me sometimes…" Toast prayed her candidness would not upset Capable. She studied her carefully and waiting for her response.

The redhead dried her eyes and smiled at her warmly. "I don't want you to worry."

"You know that's impossible. I'm always going to worry for you. I care for you, you know that."

"I just need time to grieve, to make sense of it all. Our journey was not an easy one, and for the first time, I find myself questioning so many things."

"This is all new to us; to be free, to know that Joe can't hurt us anymore, he can't use us anymore. And…Capable, I need you with me, to stay strong for us. It's just, I don't see us creating this new life here at the Citadel if you don't get better…or—" Toast bit away her tears.

Capable took her hands in hers. "I'll stay strong for you, and I'm here, don't worry. I won't fall into the darkness, but I only ask one thing."

"What is it?"

"That you allow me my time to…make sense of how I feel, to be alone for a little while, when I need it, without being worried over it. I don't want you and the others to worry about me, when I know I'll be fine."

"Capable, you don't look fine, and you know we'll still worry. But I can promise to give you your space, and not have one of us bother you so often in the day. I know you need your time to think and to grieve... And you have to promise to at least leave this room and step outside and eat regularly with us from now on, Capable." Toast saw Capable about to protest, but stopped her. "You hardly come down to eat with us, or eat what I bring you here… I don't want you to waste away—you're already looking a lot thinner now."

"I promise, I will from now on. I'll have evening meal with all of you."

"Good. Then, I'll give you your peace and I'll make sure to let Dag and Cheedo know you're okay."

"Thank you, Toast."

Toast squeezed her hand in hers. "Is there any way I can still get you to come out with me even for a few minutes? Dag said that one of the seeds they planted near the bottom of the main water spout actually looked like it rooted and started to sprout! It may be some sight! Can you imagine, a green leafy thing growing at the Citadel?"

"Maybe tomorrow, I'll stay up here for now."

"And I suppose you won't be having tonight's evening meal with us?"

"I…"

"No, worries, we said tomorrow, right? I'm just glad you're up and about, even though you've been cooped in this room all day."

Toast stood up and looked down at Capable, she smiled at her once again. "You rest here and I'll bring back food and drink for you later."

Capable was about to protest, but Toast stopped her. "I'll be right back," she told her.

Capable nodded her head and watched Toast leave her room, closing the door behind her. She dried her eyes and laid down in her bed. Her eyes closed in her exhaustion and welcomed the darkness that overcame her.

When Toast arrived moments later, with a plate of food and fresh water, she was greeted with the sleeping form of her sister. She placed the food on a nearby table, covered it with a piece of cloth and stepped out of her room.

She prayed that when Capable woke up again, she would eat. It was the lease she could do.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Rating: T

Chapter Warning: None

Author's Notes: Hi, dears! Thank you for the all the kind reviews, favorite and follows! This chapter (and a lot of the upcoming ones) will include backstories in the form of flashbacks. All flashbacks are separated by a line and are all in italics. I came up with my own take on how the War Pups are chosen and what tasks they're given before they become War Boys. Let me know what you think! Thanks a lot and enjoy! – G.G.

* * *

CHAPTER 4

 _Nux_

To stand witness to one's past was an unsettling thing. Moments that were brushed off as insignificant appeared to have been the most significant after all. This was something that Nux was forced to realize as he once again watched as the vivid imagery of certain events in his past replayed in front of him. Unlike his original experience upon his awakening, he found himself transmitted into his past as an unseen observer.

He stopped questioning his very existence and situation, for it only caused him a feeling of grief and tribulation. The voice he heard may have been from the Gods—or whatever greater being watching over him, although he was uncertain. He was certain however that whatever he was, he knew that he certainly had died, and that whatever was transpiring to him was either his afterlife or path to reconciliation before he would be raised to Valhalla.

"Sometimes before people die, their ghost remains if they left the world unfinished," a fellow War Pup had told him once. He remembered watching with the other War Pups as a few strong War Boys carried off the body of their fellow comrade who happened to fall dead due to his illness right before taking the wheel of his vehicle.

Nux wondered if his state of limbo was caused by something similar. He had thought that by sacrificing his life to save Capable and the others that he would be warranted an easy path to Valhalah, but instead he found himself a ghost—or a spirit—in an existence he was not sure of. _Could this be all that there is?_ He asked himself.

Since his awakening, he found himself an invisible observant of his past life. Scenes from his life carried on in front of him, and he stood in surprised surveillance as he witnessed himself. They were scenes that he begged not to remember, and yet they appeared as clear as day. And so he stood watching them replay, a reminder of what his life had been life.

* * *

" _You, come here!"_

 _8 year old Nux looked up at the loud voice that pointed him out and urged him to come closer. The War Boy took the young child and shoved him closer to what looked like a large feeding box in front of him. The child looked up questioning, afraid and not sure what was to transpire._

" _Look there," the War Boy pointed at the white powdered paint in the box. He took the child's hands and placed them in the box, and he did as well. The War Boy shoved both his hands in the paint and took them out and covered his face and bare chest and expose skin in the white paint. "Now you."_

 _Nux did as told and with small hands he dipped his hands in the paint and painted and covered his face and his bare chest._

" _Good," the War Boy said. "Now here." He handed the child a large gear smothered in darkened oil. Saying no more, the child already knew, upon looking at the black heavy rims and paint around the War Boy's eyes what the oiled gear was for. Without any other instructions, Nux took the black thick oil from the used gear and rimmed his eyes and balled head with it. He glanced up at the War Boy, his bright blue eyes a stark contrast against the new mask he was given._

" _Huh, so you are a smart one!" The War Boy laughed and then ushered the quiet boy to the next que in which he would be assigned his task as a War Boy-in-training._

 _Nux followed suite and stood behind other War Pups as they waited to be given their assignment. This was all new to him, and he was going through the motion with no question. He was still in shock after witnessing the death of his mother in his arms—his only parent and family._

 _He was a child lost in the barren dessert and was found by the War Boys who had scoured their small make-shift village at the bottom of the Citadel. A War Boy had found Nux's small form crying on the main streets as he tried his best to awaken his frail mother who had collapse in the broad daylight._

" _She's dead, kid. There's nothing more here for you," The War Boy who had found him told him, already knowing how often times children who were not War Pups tended to have only one parent, or none at all to care for them._

 _Nux had cried and yelled that his mother was only sleeping, only to be laughed at and pried from her lifeless body and carried into the War Boys' vehicle. After much crying, he had later found himself in a state of shock and numbness, unsure of where to go and what to do. He found himself succumbing to the War Boys who had consoled him in their own way by informing him that "he won't be alone" and that his mother's death was the calling he "received to worship and serve Immortan Joe and gain entrance to Valhalla."_

 _All of those words and sayings were new to the 8 year old. He was completely alone if he had not agreed to be taken by the War Boys to be trained to serve under their leader, Immortan Joe. To Nux, he was in need of guidance and a shelter. Somehow the War Boys and Immortan Joe provided that._

* * *

 _Life for the War Pup was a tedious role that required abiding by the many menial tasks they were assigned. For Nux his goal was to aid the War Boys with fixing their vehicles. He gathered the tools they needed, and stood beside them to hold their gadgets and tools if need be. Most importantly his small lite body would often be required to go underneath the vehicles to tighten or do repairs._

 _In his life time he had witnessed many War Pups come and go before him in his role. Many were too weak to survive the many grueling hours of constant work and inhalation from the running vehicles. In some instances there were even occasions where it wasn't uncommon that a War Pup died from the vehicle's weight collapsing on them. It was a typical and common thing to occur, and it was for this reason that when War Pups were given the role of_ Mechanic's Hand _, they were often considered to be given the shorter end of the stick. They were expected to die within a year of service, or were considered the most expendable group of War Pups. Nux knew this the moment they carved a '1' on his shoulder as a child._

" _What does this mean?" Nux looked over at his friend, 'Slit' was his name and he was the only other War Pup that managed to be deemed a Mechanic's Hand during the Choosing Ceremony. Slit was as frail as Nux, but taller in built and initially had uncommon blonde hair prior to their head being shaved. He had wild, unsteady eyes, and often scared the other War Pups, except Nux._

 _Slit looked over at the bleeding wound on his right shoulder and then at Nux. It was the first marking they ever received on their bodies as young children of 8 years old, and both did their best not to cry during the painful event. Slit rubbed away the blood and traced the '1' scrolled on his upper arm and marked within a circle._

" _It's when they think we'll die," he said to his friend. "I heard the War Boys talking about it. These numbers are when they are betting we will die."_

 _Nux rubbed his own scar. "'1'? As in one year?"_

" _Yes," Slit said, his eyes dreary and he was deep in thought. "They think we're the weakest ones. They think we won't survive longer than this year and so they'll give us the worst of the jobs, the ones where it doesn't matter if we breathe the next day or live."_

 _It was a horrible outlook, one that Nux was still pondering. He had thought that War Pups were to be trained to be War Boys one day. He had expected that he would be a better man now that he were among the close soldiers of Immortan Joe. He wasn't sickly, as far as he thought, he was healthy or at least in the same state as the other young boys that were taken during the Choosing Ceremony._

" _I don't want to die in a year," Nux told his friend, trying his best to hide the tears that were welling from his eyes. He needed to be strong, he had to act tougher now, and be a man._

 _Slit frowned at him and shook his head, giving a sharp laugh. "Then don't freaking die then. Keep your head up and make sure whatever you do you stay strong."_

 _He pointed outward towards the War Boys as they arrived in their vehicles from a scavenger out in the dessert. The drums bellowed from atop the Citadel, the_ Drum Beats _—the War Boys whose task where to play the drums and the music for Immortan Joe—pounded on the drums to allow all of the Citadel to know the safe arrival of their War Boys. Unfortunately for Nux and Slit, they were not those War Boys who had a '5' engraved on their shoulders. The two war boys prepared to gather their tools to aid the war Boys when they would drive their vehicles into the garage after Immortan Joe made his customary welcoming speech._

 _Nux looked on at the War Boys in longing. He needed to live to be one of those. He needed to show Immortan Joe that he was more than a Mechanics Hand and that he could become the vehicle driver, he could become one of the strongest War Boys, a ranger and a scavenger._

 _Slit seemed to have the same idea, as he turned to his friend, patting the shorter kid on his bald head in a friendly and affectionate manner. Nux looked up at him, his eyes glistening and full of question._

" _Nux, we'll be one of those War Boys one day. You'll see. We'll outlive them. We don't need to be a Drumbeat. We were not born to be just safe. We'll show them!"_

 _Nux saw the determination in his friend's eyes, and he felt it in his gut that yes, he was determined to live._

* * *

Nux looked at his younger self, he stood closely as he watched his young War Pup self-approach the War Boys as they pulled into the garage area with tools in his hands. His young form coughed from the exhaust and the gear oils covered his tiny hands as he worked to assist the Mechanics with fixing the vehicles for the next Scavenge. Nux saw in his young self's eyes the determination and his will to be a War Boy, to live longer than any others. He wanted not just to be a War Boy, but a Scavenger War Boy, the elite whom Immortan Joe always instructed to recover resources or escapees.

Nux rubbed his left shoulder, the engraving of the '1' was light now and surrounded by tally marks of 13 years years—marks he had carved on himself to remind him of the many years he lived and survived since we was taken to serve Immortan Joe. Of the 13 tallies, 5 were of him as a Mechanic's Hand, and 8 which were the thickest of tallies were of him as a Scavenger War Boy.

'These markings, they're different. They mean something very special to you," he remembered his night with Capable as they lay together looking up at the stars, their skin touching against each other and her cheek nestled against his chest. Her fingers were gentle and light as one by one she traced the tally marks. She noticed that all of his chest as well as his right arm were engraved by intricate designs of parts of machines, and yet his left arm remained engraved with the exception of the number '1' in a circle and tally marks under in. 13 is what she counted and she wondered what exactly they were.

'Are they…those you've killed?" She asked, almost a whisper, her eyes showing a regret that she mentioned it, not wanting to remind him of what Immortan Joe may have made him do. Nux shook his head, and watched the relief flow away from her. He held her closer to him as he pressed a kiss atop her fiery red hair and inhaled her scent. He never told anyone about the markings except Slit, and often times others made their assumptions. He trusted Capable enough to be open to her, to let her know more about him.

"They are the years I've lived since I served Immortan Joe," he said to her. "When I was chosen to serve him was weak and small and they didn't expect me to live past the year," he let out a bitter laugh. "I only proved them wrong, I grew strong… but now look at me, weak again and…" He shook his head and not wanted to think of the inevitable. "I hang on to this life and now I'm close to the end of it."

He had known that he did not have much time left to live. The life he felt within slowly drained as his illness, a plague that seemed so common among the War Boys, had taken most of his health. No blood bag could salvage him any longer. It was a bitter reality he faced as he reveled in his closeness with the woman he so easily fell in love with.

She had pressed a kiss on his chin, as he drew her closer to his body and held her tight. "Nux, you _are_ strong," she told him, "And whatever happens tomorrow, know that of all my life I've never felt the most alive until I have met you. To be with you and to feel this feeling in here," she placed a hand above his heart, "it is what life is. And whatever happens, wherever this life takes us or where our afterlife brings us, know that what we share last forever. I'm sure of it. That's strength in itself…"

Nux watched on his small frame took orders from the Mechanic War Boy, his face ashen and coughing at the exhaust and dust he neared as he fixed the gears, and prepared the Vehicles. Even in his youth, he was determined to survive, that he realized he always had in him. In the core of his following Immortan Joe—he realize that he was looking for survival, to be prove that he was worthy and that he was no weakling that was going to die. He learned how to adapt, and he realized that at 8 he had made the decision that he was no longer a child, and that he was already a man.

He thought back on his time with Capable and how she made him realize that he was more than a slave and follower of Immortan Joe. When he sacrificed his fading life to save Capable and the Wives, he let go of his past and the troubles of his past and accepted that for the first time he owed his life as his own, and he chose to do with it what he felt he needed to do, not because of Immortan Joe's promise of Valhallah, but because of his own right.

Nux felt the scene of his youth fade into ash in front of him, until there he found himself yet again surrounded by white.

"Hello!" He called out—but his words simply echoed in the distance. He felt a searing pain on his shoulder where the carvings of his 13 years under Immortan Joe's enslavement glowed. He wasn't sure if he had screamed from the jolting pain as he grasped the side of his arm. He found himself collapsing on the white ground and hissing in pain. He felt intense burning, as if flames emanated through each carving of the tallies and closed his eyes once again. As soon as the pain was there it dissipated, and once again he fell into the nothingness, and his mind grew blank.

* * *

 _Utsaah and the Child_

The child studied the War Boy's form closely, trying his best to catch any change. It was his turn after all to look over the body and he awakened from his many hours of sleep refreshed and with increased curiosity. The old Healer slept not far from them near the dying flames of the camp fire. The sun had already risen into a new day, and its rays came through the cave's entrance.

"A new day, and still nothing!" The child thought to himself begrudgingly.

When Utsaah said it'd take days, he hadn't expect that it could also mean that there would be no changes to the War Boy for what felt like a full day. The child had expected to awaken and witness the War Boy's body healed at least.

Defeated the child propped his arms on his crossed legs and propped his chin on the palm of his hands. He sighed and looked at the body once more and then after a few moments decided that he would spend his time looking through his journal and reviewing his notes.

He got up and went to his bag and took out a small leather bound journal, worn and torn from the elements and travel. It was given to him by Utsaah as a way to write about his teachings and experiences.

"A good Healer take notes of his success and failures, and his adventures," Utsaah had told him, "That allows one to look back and make the adjustments, or over time stand witness to the patterns of life."

Opening his journal, he sifted through the pages. Most of the pages consisted of images and drawings of certain potions and brews, as well as maps of certain underground locations that they could safely settle in. The child had a few notes he had scribbled, but they were few and scattered.

To Utsaah's distain, the child did not enjoy writing his findings as much as he preferred to draw them. The child always thought that he captured things better in drawings and sketches than in writing. His drawings had been so intricate and realistic that soon Utsaah simply allowed the child to continue on, paying no mind to the lack of detailed notes, but instead just pleased that the child seemed to be taking in and understanding his teachings better than he had expected him to. The child did after all had a great knack for remembering—similar to a photographic memory—and held onto details in his mind, and could easily recall them when needed. That in itself was enough reason for Utsaah to let the child be.

The child turned to an empty page in his journal and took out his drawing clay. It was hardened red clay in a form of a small thin stick that he could easily hold and would write onto the pages. The pages itself were not smooth—they had been books of the old days that were unreadable and its words were washed and cleared away to yield empty pages for use.

To the child, he was just happy to be one of the few to be lucky enough to have such luxury. Utsaah told him that not many people in their world had the luxury of having a bound book or journal to keep their writings, or even special-made clay to write with. To most it was something that was not an important part of their living. To Utsaah and the child, it was their way to past on their knowledge to their successor.

The child peered up at the War Boy and down at his empty page. He began to sketch the engravings on the War Boy's chest, amazed at how intricate it was and how some of the long scars seemed to have been done in one line, as it was all done in one sitting, with no pauses in between most of it. The child wondered how much the pain was and how the War Boy had tolerated it.

He drew the engine first, curious as to what such would symbolized. He heard War Boys considered their bodies as vessels for Immortan Joe; they were vehicles to serve him, and the engine was the core of that. They were the machines to carry out Immortan Joe's bidding.

The child sat quietly as one by one he drew the carvings on the War Boy's body. He drew his face and the skull carvings upon it, and then his right arm and the very light carvings there of gears. The child stood and moved to settle on the left side of the War Boy. He peered close to draw the marking of '1' and several tallies near it. It was odd because of all other parts of the War Boy's body; this area remained the cleanness. It was a canvas devoted to the tally marks, it seemed, for it did not have any other engravings around it like its counterpart.

The child counted each tally under the '1' and couldn't 13, some varying in their thickness. He wondered what they meant. As he drew on he looked up and down from his journal. He was now drawing the tallies that were the thickest. He wondered what each one meant and wished he knew what their significance were.

He darkened the thick tallies that he drew on the page and glanced back up to observe them again. When he looked up, he gasped in surprised, the pencil in his hands falling. He rubbed his eyes and scurried closer to the War Boy's arm.

"It can't be!" He heard himself say in surprise as one by one each tally began to disappear.

The child rubbed his eyes again and blinked a few more times. The scars glowed a fiery red/orange, as if they were traced by flames and then disappeared into nothingness. The flesh where they were was then then left unmarred and smooth. The child dropped his journal to his side and rushed over to the Healer.

"Utsaah! It's began!" The child said as he shook the Healer awake. "He's healing!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Rating: K

Chapter Warning: None

Author's Note: In my story, the Citadel consist of 3 mesas, which is actually shown in a lot of photos of the movie. I'm not an expert on rock formations, so excuse any scientifically incorrect things related to the mesas in this fic. I take full responsibility for all of it! This chapter will be followed by flashbacks as Nux begins his journey to Capable.

CHAPTER 5

.

.

 _Utsaah and the Child_

Utsaah watched as the child studied the War Boy intently, his eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. It dawned on him that this was to be the first Chosen his apprentice saw during his transformation and reawakening. He watched as the child wrote and drew fervently in his notebook, paused to peer closer to the War Boy's now unmarked arm, and then turned his gaze towards him. Utsaah knew the questions would soon come, and sure enough they did. And with a smile Utsaah answered them all, and continued to train his apprentice.

.

.

 _Nux_

Nux could not remember when he started his long climb upwards one of the three mesas of the Citadel. His feet carried him while he was in a trance, until he reached the top and walked along the pasturelands on top of the mesa. When the realization of where he stood hit him, he could not help but take in the wonderful sight before him. Bright shades of green surrounded him and enveloped his gaze as he looked around him. For many years he heard of the vegetation above the mesas of the Citadel, and he even saw them from afar when he'd view the Citadel from a distance in his War Boy's vehicle, or looked up above when he found himself around The Wretched.

He paused for a moment and took in his surroundings, and found himself staring at the multiple small trees scattered about with green branches and silvery bark. He refrained from going to one to examine them, and continued onward towards the edge of the mesa, as if an invisible string was pulling him to do so.

Nux stood on the edge of the mesa, and looked outward to the view before him. Across from him were the other mesas, all topped with greenery, trees and various vegetation that looked very close to the descriptions provided to him by the Vuvalini. He watched in amazement as he witnessed several people walking about the mesas gathering and picking from the branches of the trees and the plants below what looked to be fruits and vegetables—the 'plant food' and nourishment that the Vuvalini had described came from the very seeds that were given to Dag.

Silently he observed the people tending to the vegetation, surprised that none of them seemed to look towards him or notice his gaze from afar. Nux wondered if he called out to them if they would hear him. Then he reminded himself that perhaps this—what he was seeing—was yet again another dream, or another vision provided to him in his spirit or limbo state.

He brushed this thought aside as he averted his gaze to look down below the mesa, and expected to see the heard of people begging, hungry, and hopeless—The Wretched—but was surprised at what he found. Below him there was no longer the sight of The Wretched, but instead more greenery, new structures, and people working on the land. People farmed in designated patches of vegetation, and all throughout the land below the mesas where a heard of people once stood and gazed up upon Immortan Joe and his waterfall, was instead various encampments and small homes built. Among the homes were people roaming about talking and trading with each other. He saw no hopelessness and despair, but instead a town filled with hope, of purpose, and community. 'This can't be the Citadel,' he told himself. Nux surmised that what he saw was a dream, and that unlike his various visions that he encountered and relived in his afterlife, this one was not one he had seen or viewed before.

He found himself wondering if what he saw was the Citadel of the past, before the world fell into its darkness and men like Immortan Joe took power and drained the land of its greenery, and instilled in everyone despair.

"Was this what it used to be?" He asked aloud as he looked on.

"This is the future of the Citadel," said a female voice next to him. Nux turned to his left startled by the sound and rendered speechless. The voice came from a hooded figure who had appeared beside him. She was a tall woman covered fully in a cloak the deepest shade of blue he ever saw. The cloak covered her from head to toe, with its hood pushed down past her eyes, and casting a shadow upon her face.

He stared at her, waiting for her to turn to look at him, but she did not make a move to do so. The woman simply looked forward, only her profile shown to him. She was still for a moment, until suddenly she raised both of her hands and slowly gestured to the world beneath them in a swooping motion. She spoke again without turning to him.

"This is the Citadel you will help build."

Nux looked back at the scene before him, astonished at how real it all felt. He was seeing the future, of what could be, and yet he had so many questions as to how he could help build it. Was this woman standing next to him another vision that would dissipate, or could this woman provide him answers to what he was encountering. Was she to help him to Valhalla? Was she a Goddess he remembered the Vuvalinni had mentioned praising?

He turned to her slowly, happy that her presence did not disappear and that it had not been a hallucination at all. He studied the tall figure of the woman, whose skin where a dark chocolate brown, and lips turned slightly upright in a knowing smile. He still could not see her face, hooded by her cloak, and he decided not to try to see it, as it was clear she would not turn to face him.

"How is it that you see me?" He asked, although deep down he wondered if he already knew the answer, as the figure made no move to turn to face him. He watched as she folded her hands in front of her.

"It is I who have chosen you to fulfill your destiny not yet realized," she said matter of fact. "It is I who will guide you home, and will give to you the power to finish a path long began by many others before you."

"I died," he said, "I am dead, and yet here I am. You..." He was unsure of what to say, yet something in him accepted what was going on. Something in him was saying that whoever this strange being was, that they would help him.

Something about the woman's presence told him that she was of another world, a strength within her that he clearly thought was absolutely lacking in Immortan Joe and the praise he received. This cloaked woman, emanated an aura of power, of light, and Nux felt a surety that this was one of the Goddesses that he heard the Valvaluni speak of. This was the Goddess of the guide of the afterworld.

The figure finally turned to him, and his breathe caught in his throat as she lifted her face and he saw her eyes, completely black and devoid of the white. There were pools of stars within her eyes of a dark night sky, and yet he knew she saw him clearly.

"You will follow me, and in your memories I will heal you, and lead you back to her, and onto your destiny." She tells him, the smile on her lips widened, as she raised her hand towards him.

She then raised her hands above her and made a circling motion until a bright blue light came from her palms and then trailed towards Nux and surrounded him in a haze.

Nux did not move, as he found himself embracing the warmth of the blue light. He was unsure of what to come, and yet found in his heart that he trusted the outcome.

Her words echoed in his mind: _'In your memories I will heal you, and lead you back to her'._ He allowed himself to be transported back to his past, and this time he did not fear it. He embraced it.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: His Return

Author: G.G. Halcyon

Fandom: Mad Max: Fury Road

Pairing: Nux/Capable

Rating: T

Author's note: Nux faces some of his memories, especially those leading up to his scar on his chest . Scenes are separated by '/FLASH/'. Italics are the scenes Nux is reliving. Non-italics are his thoughts as he is in the ether.

CHAPTER 6

.

.

.

 _Nux_

The strange figure he met disappeared from his view. He never saw her again, yet he still felt the energy of the blue light that she had encircled him in. The light's energy provided warmth and assurance, and a semblance of peace, that made Nux accept his predicament, no matter how new and unsure his experiences were.

He gathered he was in a place in the afterlife, and that the strange figure was perhaps his guide or a Goddess who came to lead him. Her words to him echoed in his mind, as he reaffirmed that her words could well mean that he was to return to see Capable in spirit or not. And the way to do so was through experiencing his memories and his past. Or would he also experience the future as he was doing so right there at that moment still taking in the sight of the future thriving Citadel?

At this last thought, his surroundings faded once more as his body and spirit transported to begin his journey once more through his afterlife. The memories and visions occurred like flashes of scenes from his life, and unlike before, Nux prepared himself for what was to come… and he was no longer afraid.

/FLASH/

The memories of an older man with his child came to his view. It was a memory that he had long forgotten that at first Nux wondered if it was a pigment of his imagination, or if the Goddess was showing him memories of another man's life. This thought dissipated immediately when suddenly he found himself in the body of his three-year-old self, looking up at the visage of the man who is realized was his father.

His father was a tall and lanky man, with the piercing blue eyes, a strong nose, long dusty brown hair and a full beard that covered his face. A young Nux only four years old watched as his father drew on the sand below them with his fingers. A few sweeping motions and there it was—an image of a city of tall buildings and round shaped encampments was completed.

 _Nux studied his father's drawing, the structures so foreign and new. He never saw such tall structures or mountains in his life, but heard of them only through stories. Nux was always told that the desert was not their home, that they were part of a group of people whose camp dispersed in search of a place of water that were promised to them by their Elders. He looked up at his father with the same piercing blue eyes, and dusty brown hair._

" _Is this where we came from?" He asked his father_

" _This is where we'll find our new home," Nux's father said to him._

 _He stared at the tall structure his father drew and was pointing at. It was a drawing of three tall straight mountains with a cascading wave falling from its center structure. A 'water fall' is what his father called it, where water abound for all._

" _Why this place?" Nux asked his father, as he stared at the picture, wondering if there were others like this place his father was speaking of. "Aren't there other places like it? There must be!"_

" _This is the closest to us that we know of." His father said, "We know of others like us who trekked there."_

" _We can walk to the other places too, there must be more here in this place." The little Nux looked around, capped his hands and pretended they were binoculars. He peered through them and looked around their surroundings._

 _With a sigh, Nux put down his imaginary binoculars. "There's nothing."_

 _His father chuckled. "They are all too far, and that's why we need a cruiser."_

 _Nux turned to him questioningly. "A 'cruiser'?"_

 _It was a word he never heard of. His father took hold of the stick once more and drew what appeared to be a box, with four road circles._

 _Nux pointed at the circles below the box._

" _Tires," his father said. "You ride in these and they travel across the sands and take you to places you've never seen."_

" _Inside it? How do you know where it will go?"_

" _You steer it, lead it the way you want it to go and it carries you."_

 _His father drew within the box another circle, and a stick-figure holding onto it sitting inside the box, facing forward._

" _I can do that?" The child Nux asked, watching as his finished drawing the person in the box._

" _Yes, you'd be a driver."_

" _Driver," he whispered, already his eyes memorizing the picture and his father already knew that later his son would play and imagine it._

" _Have you seen one? Can I find one?"_

 _His father shook his head, "I have never set eyes on one, but I have heard of them and have only seen these images."_

" _Will this place have it?" Nux pointed at the tower his father had drawn, he took a stick and starting drawing his mother, father and himself near the structure with a stick. He wished greatly that they had this 'cruiser' his father spoke of._

 _His father nodded his head, and Nux smiled widely._

Nux had forgotten the long venture he, his mother, and himself made across the desert. The arduous journey across the desert in hopes of a better life in the rumored sanctuary known as the Citadel was one that his parents made sure he made. Little did they know that the Citadel was no sanctuary at all.

Upon their arrival there were people of The Wretched that took it upon themselves to steal what little his family had upon their arrival, and took the life of his father as he had struggled to keep what little they had in their name from being taken. Not only a few days' time upon their arrival at the Citadel, that Nux found himself fatherless, and his mother a broken woman. The hope that the Citadel was to have given them was a mere faded dream that had turned into a nightmare. In time his mother had withered away into a sickly woman who cared for her only son the best she could until her very last breath. And in time, when Nux was embraced and taken under the wings of the War Boys of Immortan Joe, the memories of his mother and father had dissipated into the recesses of his mind until he had forgotten about them until now.

/FLASH/

 _The Organic Mechanic shook his head in confusion. Here he was wondering why the War Boy was smiling widely. Had he given him to much medication, or drinks? Had he lost his mind through the pain of it all? The Organic Mechanic flicked a finger on Nux's forehead a few times until the War Boy slowly opened his eyes. His pupils were dilated. Nux was high off of the 'medicine' he received._

" _Well…" The Organic Mechanic looked down at Nux, a smug smile on his face as he rubbed his bloodied hands on his apron and shirt. "look at you." He held a carving knife that he wiped and placed in the pockets of his apron, as reveled in his handy work._

 _Nux's eyes were heavy, and he tried to keep them open wide, only to find them half lidden. He was tired, and he felt numb to the point that he wondered if his body still existed. He also wondered why he could not move his body, and why the Organic Mechanic stood over him in his bloodied state._

 _The Organic Mechanic laughed and shook his head in disbelief as Nux simply stared on in silence, trying to keep his consciousness. 'He is a stubborn one," the OM thought, and took a hand mirror and showed it to Nux, so that it was tilted downward and he had a view of his chest and the completed masterpiece of the Mechanic._

" _You're Shiny now, new driver." The Organic Mechanic said, as he watched Nux review his work on him. The scars on his chest were fresh, bloodied still, although it seemed they had been cleaned most recently. They were bloodied, yet he saw the shape. It was exactly what he dreamed. The engine right before his chest. As intricate as he had dreamt it to be._

 _Nux tried to turn slightly to see the extend of the scars, but to no avail as the massive pain erupted through the delirium of the drug he was in and he found himself clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. Hot tears started to well from his eyes._

" _Hurts, don't it?" The OM said, laughing at Nux, "I was starting to worry there for a moment when you didn't wake up screaming. I thought I must have not cut deep enough."_

 _Nux grunted in pain, forced himself not to scream, as he felt blinding pain course through him in between the pools of delirium. He could hear the OM walk around him, hear him place the mirror on a nearby table with a loud clunk. He heard more movement and then felt a sharp pain as he felt the OM raise his arm and inject something into him._

" _Wha—" Nux tried to ask, but delirium filled him again and his head started to feel light and his body numb once more._

" _Hope that wasn't too much," The OM said to himself, as he watched Nux relax again, and start to drift asleep._

 _Before darkness claimed him, Nux heard the soft and caring voice of a woman._

" _Oh, my child you'll be all right." The woman's voice told him, as he felt soft hands against his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. "When was this woman here?", he asked as he opened his eyes slightly, fluttering and eyelids still heavy and his vision still blurry. He tried to blink his eyes and when he did he made out the familiar face his mother, a bright spirit standing before him._

" _It'll be okay," she told him, "You'll come through this."_

" _Thank you," Nux said to her as he accepted fatigue and exhaustion and fell asleep._

 _The Organic Mechanic had heard mumbles from Nux and watched as the War Boy became still, then relaxed and then once again a smile showing on his face, as he passed out. For a moment he wondered what the War Boy was trying to say, or what vision he may have been speaking to in his delirium. He shrugged the questions aside as he left the sleeping Nux and made way to the other new War Boy drivers that also needed to be scarred._

 _/FLASH/_

 _The 3-year-old Nux coughed loudly and shivered beneath the warm blankets that enveloped him. He had been sick for a few days, both his parents worried as his illness seemed to worsen. Their only child had grown weak from fever to stand or move, and they kept him in their makeshift bed, tucked beneath blankets inside their tent._

 _They looked down at their child, quiet at first as they huddled within their tent, as the nightfall came about and the noise of the wind and sand against their home in waves._

" _My baby, it'll be all right," his mother said, as she fixed the blankets around her son so that he was tucked in. She brushed a hand on his forehead and cheek to feel his temperature, which still felt quite high._

 _His father, who kneeled next to his wife, gazed at his child with a look of concern. "How is he doing? Has the fever broke?"_

 _The mother shook her head, "It has not, but I'm certain it will soon." She wiped again at Nux's forehead, and turned to her husband, meeting his blue gaze._

" _Our son is a fighter," she said smiling softly, and then turned her attention back to Nux._

" _You are a strong one like your father," she said to her son. "You'll come through this."_

 _TBC._


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

 **Utsaah and the Child:**

"You must sleep now, and prepare for tomorrow."

The child sighed as he took the bowl and began to eat, though he made no movement away from his position near the War Boy. Utsaah knew his apprentice's curiosity and eagerness often led to his stubbornness, but decided that unlike the previous days, he would not nag the child to go to bed and stay away from his post. Utsaah felt that the War Boy was close to his awakening, he saw it in his visions from the Goddess Miras during his morning meditation and prayer. It would be close soon, he knew.

Utsaah sat next to the boy and ate his meal, looking down at the notebook near the child. He ushered for the child to past it to him. "Let me see your notes, child."

The boy passed him his book and Utsaah opened the pages of his drawings and notes, midway his eating. His apprentice was learning quite quickly and wrote and drew detailed pictures and descriptions of the processes of their healing a Chosen. He also saw pictures of the scars which the War Boy had on him.

Utsaah was deep in thought when he saw a bright red light emit before them. He placed the book and his finished bowl of food down and looked up. The boy already noticed the change in the War Boy at once, as he placed down his food – completely forgotten—and peared down at the War Boy.

The War Boy's scars on his chest gleamed a bright red, pulsing, and emanated a light from within.

"It has happened again! He is healing, Utsaah! I knew it! I knew it!" The boy was excited at the sight and grabbed his notebook and clay pen and began to write his descriptions.

They watched was the scars glow and slowly, one by one the scars upon his chest began to fade, as if the V8 image was being erased one segment by another.

Utsaah was certain that it would be soon until the Chosen would awaken and their job would be done.

 _Capable_

It was a nagging feeling in her gut, the constant reminders that seem to continue on wherever she was and whatever she did. Nux filled her mind more so than before, and the thought of him made her heart ache. She no longer wanted to maintain the hope and belief that he lived. She wished that she was not cursed with her 'gift' to know when those she loved died, and prayed that it was indeed just a pigment of her imagination, and that she had no power at all. Yes, that was it. All of those incidences of her sensing other's deaths were all coincidences, and were not tied to her 'gift' at all.

"You are in your thoughts again," Toast said to her from across their seating area. They stood above the citadel balcony, where in the past Immortan Joe would stand. It provided the best view of the Citadel—the three large mountains that made it, as well as the hords of people, the Wretched, who lived below.

Capable turned to Toast and gave her a smile, and returned her gaze back down at the Wretched. She noted that the people have created more establishments below with the aid of Furiosa and the War Boys she led. With their aid, they were provided materials, to fashion themselves miature homes below the Citadel and below was an ever growing small city on its own that sprouted up once Furiosa took rule, and the water was provided in a more timely and schedule manner.

It was also in those encampments and cities that the Alchemists were said to be. Capable had overheard from Lawl, Giddy's successor, that the Alchemists were those with whom the Wretched went to when they suffered, or when they needed help in the spiritual realm and were said to know of ways to heal the heart. Capable wondered if it wouldn't hurt to reach out to the Alchemists and if they would help her in ways that she could not help herself. Somehow the thought of finding closure through whatever they would provide, was appealing to Capable for it would finally mean that she could move on with her life.

"The Wretched goes to the Alchemist to say their last goodbyes to those who died in the spirit realm," Lawl said, as she pointed at the tattoed word 'alchemist' on her right forearm. The word was small and would be easily missed in the multiple tattoes of words that she had on them. Capable wondered when she had it tattoed on her skin, and what stories it involved. Before Lawl could continue on to share a story, it was already time for their meal and Capable was taken by Toast and the others to eat and talk.

"Do you remember the Alchemists?" Capable asked Toast, wondering if she would remember the conversation or perhaps share information from Lawl she didn't have the chance to hear. "Lawl said they are down there below."

Toast turned her gaze back at the Wretched and followed Capable outreached hands, which pointed below them. "I hear they have been here since the beginning. They were the first Wretched, survived for centuries and know the secret of these lands. That they choose to live there below."

"Do you think it's true what Lawl said?" Cheedo asked peered down at the Wretched, Dag next to her as the others turned her and gave her their attention. "The Alchemist are the Organic Mechanics of the Wretched in a way, as Lawl said…"

"Except not bloodied with knives and dealing with the mind," Dag continued on, her gaze falling on Capable quietly. Capable met her gaze, knowing full well what she thought. Capable let out a sigh as she turned from the balcony and began to walk towards their exit, and Toast and Cheedo followed suit. Dag remained in her place for a moment and then turned to follow behind them. Dag then walked swiftly under she was beside Capable, following suit as they exited their rooms.

As Cheedo and Toast left to visit another part of the Citadel and aid in Furiosa in their assigned roles, Dag walked with Capable and then stopped her in their track with a gentle hand on her arm.

Capable turned around and met her intense gaze.

"Capable," Dag said to her, a slight smile on her lips and look of what seemed to be concern in her eyes, "They're healers," she finished, referring to the Alchemists. "I can help take you to them."

Capable was shock, unsure how to answer Dag, and yet she did her best. Dag came forward and placed her in a warm hug, and Capable hugged back realizing it had been so long since she experienced something like this with her Sisters.

"I just want you to be better," she whispered to her.

Capable pulled away from the hug. She knew Dag had concern in her heart. Capable nodded her head. She knew that perhaps the Alchemist was her last chance. Perhaps they would be able to assist her in her visions.

It was an easier task than they had thought it to be, to venture below to the Wretched. Somehow Dag knew of a different path to go down below, as if clearly she had done so for many a times. She always was one of peculiarity and wonders with so much knowledge she held. Capable didn't bother to question Dag as they made their way down the narrowed paths, and passed the Healer and Milking Rooms, and ventured into the corridors of the Farmers, who consisted of the Wretched that were chosen to aid with the land above the three mountainous structures that created the Citadel.

Both of them remained unnoticed in the disqguise that Dag created for them. Their ragged clothes—a few Dag somehow had in her person—another side she had done this before and more often that it seemed—made them unnoticeable. Capable covered her bright red hair and hit it under a tight dark turban, and a shawl around her face. She followed Dag through the various corridors and through the various parts of the Citadel until they came about a small pully upon which graval and rocks were being hauled up, manned by what looked to be a War Boy in charge and several War pups.

Capable's heart was caught in her throat as they were immediately seen by the War Boy. She pulled on Dag's hands to pull her back, and to turn and run, but Dag only stopped her, grabbed her hands and urged her to follow. Capable watched in amazement as a wide smile formed on Dag's lips as they went towards the War Boy with a smile.

"Rove," she greets him, a tinge of familiarity in the way Dag said the War Boy's name. The War Boy stood tall and looked at her, his lips curving into a smile. "I came for a favor, that I'm happy to return."

Capable watched as Dag let go of her hand and went closer to the War Boy. With long hands she raises them to touch his shoulder, and trace his scars there. It was a knowing touch, and the War Boy's green eyes softened. Capable wondered if there was more to them that she did not know, and yet was certain that it'd be explained to her in the future my Dag.

She hears them exchange words, but thought it more respectful to abide them their privacy. She turned her back to them as they continued to speak, soft words, and pleasantries of familiarities. She turned around when she thought them finish and watched as Dag placed a light kiss on his lips, before he stepped aside and let them through.

"Come," Dag said to Capable as she stepped onto the platform to the elevator, a platform still pilled with rock and gravel. Capable followed suit, and bit a quick thank you to the War Boy.

As they got into the platform, the War Boy handed them a large tarp of sort.

"Hide yourself," he tells them. "It's better to be unseen. I'll look for your return."

With that, Capable and Dag kneeled down onto the platform and covered themselves. Within a few moments they then felt the platform move down with the countings of the War Pups as the War Boy 'Rove' commanded them to begin their motion.

As they decended, Capable looked up at Dag, who stared back at her with a smile. She already knew the questions inside the redhead's thoughts. "I've known him for very long," she says, and nothing more. With that they waited in silence as the platform continued it's decent, and they prepared themselves for their venture throughout the Wretched.

The Alchemist were not as difficult to find as Capable expected. The path through the Wretched was one that did not yield any attention, as they blended in quite easily with their disquise, and among them was the hustle and bustle of the makeshift town that formed. The many people yielded a great cover, as they ventured not too far from the platform, and found a makeshift group of large tents. Capable wondered how often Dag came there, for she found the location quite quickly.

Dag took hold of Capable's hands as they entered the large tent, and were greeted by one elderly woman, similar to Giddy, but with a patch covering her blind eye. The woman looked very ragged, her skin pale, and her hair white as the clouds. Her eye was a dark black that peered into her and viewed them understandingly.

"I felt you would come," she said, she had a very heavy accent in her voice. "You have brought her here, my child, and it is for that she should thank you." She was speaking to Dag now who nodded her head.

"Dag?"Capable turned to her sister in question, as the Alchemist reached out her hand for Capable to accept. Dag nodded her head and Capable grabbed the woman's hands and sat in front of her, as Dag sat on the corner of the tent away from them and looked on.

"You came here to find the answer, and to speak one last time to your lover that you dream of." The Alchemist said. How much has Dag shared with this Alchemist about her? Capable was about to respond, but the Alchemist quiets her with a raised hand, and a nod. "I know, child, and I will help you. I have prepared what it is you must take to speak with him, and to find the answer you seek."

The Alchemist then stood and moved to her wares on the corner of the tent. They heard and saw multiple bottles filled with various colors of liquid, and packets of dried herbs that they've never seen before, and yet were reminiscent of the herbs that Vulvalini had used to heal them. Capable wondered where these ingredients were found, for she had never seen such plethora of dried leaves and flowers and greenery aside from those from the seeds that Dag had returned and had planted above the Citadels. Could Dag's War Boy dabbled in smuggling Citadel plants to the Alchemist of the Wretched aside from providing secret passages to and from the Wretched to the Citadel? Capable wouldn't be surprise, yet a part of her gathered that the source of the herbs were most likely elsewhere.

The Alchemist slowly filled a bowl with various herbs and liquids, spoke in a different tongue that she spoke in, a language unknown to both Dag and Capable. Capable looked at Dag, who simply nodded her head to console her to tell her in her own way that it was all right.

As the elderly woman's chant continued on, Capable felt a shiver course through her, as if the very words affected her and awakened something she could not explain. She shook her head and steadied herself. It could simply be a feeling of anxiety that caused her to shiver. For all she knew, the Alchemist's potions would not truly aid her, and it was all just a futile and final attempt that Capable felt she needed to try before completely letting herself let go of her beloved.

For what felt like many moments, they were in silence and watched the Alchemist prepare a potion, until she provided a small vile from the herbs and leaves and liquids she had combined and cooked under a fir and grounded. The tiny vile was the size of her palm, the liquid a dark shade of brown, that almost looked as black as the tar the War Boys used to paint their faces.

The Alchemist took Capable's hands and placed them in her palm. The Alchemist closed Capable's hands around the vile, and kept her hands over the younger woman's.

"What do I do-?" Capable asked peering down at their entwined hands, and feeling the warm vile in her palm.

"When you return to your bed, before you sleep, drink this and slumber."

Capable nodded and prepared to let go of her hands, but the Alchemist kept her hands in hers as she continue to speak. "Your slumber will be deep

"What should I pay you?" She asked, and the Alchemist laughs.

"That is no greater payment than for what you will give to us all in your future."

"Dag?"

Dag smiled and began to get us, "Thank you, for your help."

The Alchemist smiled, "It is always a pleasure to be of help to the beautiful ones of the Citadel.".


End file.
